Hostility
by Ripper101
Summary: Lewis/ Hathaway slash. It's all Lyn's fault that it happens. Much to her disgust.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own no rights to these fictional characters or to the television show they derive from. I mean no offence by posting this and make no money from it.

**A/N:** Written a while ago, before I had the show timeline fixed properly in my head. Also, this deviates from the development of characters in later seasons.

**A/N 2:** Also, I had to desecrate the solemnity of Hathaway's band. It was too good an opportunity to pass up to have him play something silly.

* * *

><p>When Lyn first met James, there was... hostility.<p>

Lewis was surprised, actually.

True, Lyn hadn't been expecting Hathaway. Come to that, Hathaway hadn't been expecting Lyn. The look on his Sergeant's face when he saw a woman at the door was one Lewis could only have described as bewildered.

Had it been anyone but James, Lewis would have expected him to ask if he had the right address, maybe made a joke of it, but James being James, he'd paused for a moment, lips pursed in thought, and then said, "You must be Lyn," with as much enjoyment as if he'd said, "You must be the dentist."

"Ah, Hathaway. Let him in, pet. Lyn, this is my Sergeant. One I was telling you about- James Hathaway."

He had stood back, smiling proudly, waiting to see Lyn's warm smile start it's magic on another unsuspecting human being. He'd always considered Lyn a great one for meeting people, good at putting anyone at their ease and making them feel welcome. Just like Val.

And then Lyn, with about as much warmth as an ice cube, said, "Oh yeah. Hi. My dad mentioned you once."

Lewis almost had a heart attack.

It put a smile on Hathaway's face but the smile wasn't a pleasant one. And the next four minutes had been spent standing in the tiny space in front of his front door, making desultory small talk and sniping at each other.

Well, Lyn and James sniped. Lewis tried- ineffectually- to keep the peace.

It didn't work.

"I just stopped by to talk about the case, sir," Hathaway said.

There wasn't a particularly urgent case on, so Lewis frowned, but he didn't get a chance to say anything.

Lyn sighed in disgust and spun on her heel. "I'll put tea in the oven."

Lewis, guilt-ridden, was perhaps a bit harsher than he meant to be- "Can't it wait, Sergeant?"

Hathaway, growing steadily more expressionless, cracked enough to be facetious- "Of course, sir. All the time in the world. I'll see you on Monday."

Lewis would have hauled him over the coals for downright rudeness but Lynn was already back and smiling sweetly.

"It's a nice night for a walk," she said, "Enjoy it."

"If you like rain," Hathaway said calmly, "I don't. Nice to have met you, Lyn. Sir."

And he was gone, door open and shut before Lewis could think of what to say next. He rounded on Lyn, of course, and they had a right good argument about it.

"I wasn't rude," she said frostily, and then somewhat spoiled the effect with, "Anyway he started it."

Hathaway got his part of it on Monday. Only Lewis didn't have the authority to yell at him like a parent, so he settled for a few cold glances and a few distinct remarks about Hathaway's sharp tongue.

"Didn't know I had one, Sir," Hathaway said woodenly.

"James, just... go away and do some work," Lewis groused.

A sulky afternoon was lightened by serious crime investigation and Hathaway unbent enough on his way out the door to say that Lyn seemed a nice person.

Lewis raised his eyebrows pointedly.

"I'm sorry if I offended her," Hathaway said painfully, "Not my intention."

"Not me you should be apologising to," Lewis said neutrally, "But I'll pass it on. Anyway, she gave as good as she got."

Hathaway wisely made no comment, but dipped his head and said good night.

Lewis finished the form he was working on and went back to his empty flat and his leftovers. Relaxing into the sofa, he sighed with relief at having both the people who were closest to him talking to him again. Much as he missed Mark, he couldn't quite claim to be close to him. There was too much distance between them.

And Hathaway... Lewis sighed. Just his luck, he was turning into Morse. And now he had his own Sergeant who didn't want to leave him to pickle himself in scotch and opera. For all that Hathaway himself seemed inclined to loneliness. But it wasn't the same. Hathaway had other friends- Lewis knew that.

Lewis squinted into the dark and tried to remember what those people he'd only seen once in Hathaway's band had looked like. For a copper, he hadn't bothered to observe much. He'd spent too much time watching his wayward Sergeant. It had been a good time for it. Guard dropped, face soft, no armour, no smart reply- just James Hathaway.

Only Lewis hadn't learned much more from the observation that he'd known before. It seemed even with his guard down Hathaway was a bloody mystery.

Laura told him he was over-thinking it. "I've never met a man who was so obvious," she said, "Except for you, of course."

The second time Hathaway met Lyn was at the station.

She'd turned up unexpectedly in Oxford with a present and her fiancé on Lewis's birthday. Only they'd had a case on, and Lewis was at the office late. A phone call and many apologies from Lewis later, Lyn had turned up at the station, and Hathaway, sitting at his desk inside Lewis's office, had stood up when she'd walked in tailed by a tall, blond man with glasses.

"Sergeant Hathaway," she said, a little militantly.

Lewis groaned inwardly and turned a warning eye on his Sergeant.

To his credit, Hathaway only nodded politely and said, "Hello, Lyn."

Lyn proceeded to turn her back on him.

Lewis saw Hathaway's jaw clench and leapt into action. "Right, Sergeant. I'm going out for a quick dinner. I think it's best you head off home too, eh? We'll call it an early night."

"You go ahead, sir. I'll finish up here."

Hathaway had very thick, very pale lashes, and eyes of a very indeterminate grey, and when he was at his most expressionless, Lewis sometimes thought the man managed to make his eyes look as colourless as his tone of voice.

"Right."

He was almost at the elevator when Lyn, very loudly, said, "I knew everyone would forget your birthday."

"I didn't tell anyone, pet," he said, and decided that he really would not look back to see if the door to his office was closed, "I didn't want a fuss."

The elevator arrived in the nick of time to take her away. And him. Lewis wasn't entirely sure how he was going to face Hathaway in the morning.

And he was right. Hathaway had his blankest expression on his face. And looked rumpled and pale and heavy-eyed.

"What happened to you? You look terrible."

"I'm fine," Hathaway said shortly.

Lewis looked at the surplus of files on Hathaway's desk, the notebook with Hathaway's looping scrawls and diagrams. And then the empty mug and the kitkat wrapper.

"I told you to go home," Lewis said gruffly.

"I had a break," Hathaway said, and lifted up the kitkat wrapper to drop it in the wastepaper basket.

Lewis rolled his eyes. "Right, then, what have you found?"

He hadn't found much. But just enough to give them an opening into a very disturbing situation at the local hospital. It wasn't their jurisdiction, nor was it relevant to their original case, but they began the investigation anyway. At four in the afternoon, Hathaway came back from a coffee run, loaded with two Styrofoam cups, a warrant to search the premises of their most likely suspect, and, once he'd put everything down, a package in plain blue wrapping.

"From the team, sir," Hathaway said coolly, and then, "Right. So I assume we're on our way..."

"Hang on a minute. What d'ye mean- the team? What about the team? What is this?"

"A present. For your birthday. That is the tradition or so I've been told."

"James..."

"Have you noticed, sir, you always call me James when you're letting me down gently. I suspect that it's a father-figure thing. Only I do have a father. So I'd rather you didn't go on."

Lewis sighed and shook his head. "Well, thanks," he said grudgingly.

"You're most welcome. I'll stand you a birthday pint when we're done too. Come on."

"Hang on! I'm still in charge here, Sergeant. I'll handle the 'come on-s', thank you very much."

"Sir."

"Come on, James."

"Sir."

"And don't sulk."

"No, sir."

"I notice you always call me..."

"Yes, sir, when I'm saying something mean. I've got the warrant."

The third time Hathaway met Lyn, Lewis was expecting the hostility. But then he'd had enough of it, he really had. Every time he mentioned Hathaway to his daughter, she sniffed and tried to change the subject. She wouldn't mention his name- 'your Sergeant' seemed the label of choice, or 'Him' thrown in for variation- and when Lewis tried to argue her out of the habit, she had to end the call unexpectedly.

Which was ridiculous, because almost all aspects of his life had Hathaway in it. It was hard to make a cheery comment on the weather without mentioning whether or not his faithful shadow was buttoned to the eyeballs or dressed in a natty suit with those shirts that almost seemed too tight even when they weren't.

Hathaway, at least, was better. He couldn't exactly get away with the kind of behaviour Lyn did. So he mostly preserved a morose silence when her name came up.

Luckily Lewis rarely needed to talk to Hathaway about Lyn.

So he decided that for the Christmas before Lyn finally got married, he would ask her round for Christmas Eve, and if Hathaway was still in Oxford, he would ask him too. And if those two had another sniping match, his plan was to ply everybody with enough alcohol to make it seem a waste of time.

He broke in the end and told Lyn a week before she was due to arrive.

"Come on, lass, he's not so bad."

"He rubs me the wrong way."

"I'm not asking you to be friends, I'm just asking you to be polite."

"Yes, but why on Christmas Eve? It's my holiday too. I don't see why I have to spend it with a po-faced..."

"Now, Lyn."

"... alright, alright. Fine. If you want him there, I can't say no. I just wish that you'd invited someone else if you had to invite people from work. What about that Laura? You said you were seeing a bit of her."

"I'm not seeing her," Lewis said quellingly, "We're just good friends. And I asked her. She's busy."

Lyn made a sound that could have been disapproval. "Do I have to cook?"

"Well, er..."

"Fine. I'll come early as I can. Tell Him to bring the bloody dessert. I'm not Jamie Oliver."

Lewis wasn't sure where all the hostility was coming from. He went cold, wondering if he had just signed his own death warrant. And even if he didn't like it, Lyn was right- it was her holiday too. He had no right to spoil her Christmas.

They'd always been so firm on Christmas being for family. No friends or lovers they didn't know well enough. And even Morse had never been privy to one of their Christmases. Though Lewis would have told his daughter, if she had asked, that that hadn't been on their part. He'd issued the invitation; Morse had just never said yes.

As the days approached, Christmas Eve was beginning to feel like the date of execution.

Lewis broke again two days before the twenty-fourth and told Hathaway. "Look, I'm sorry if she goes a little rough on you but she's a good girl at heart. If you want to cry off, I'll understand."

"Bit late now for a change of plans," Hathaway said acerbically, and then looked frozen, as if he'd said something he hadn't wanted to, "No, it's fine. I'm sure the spirit of the season will be an example to us all."

It didn't sound very hopeful.

The day of the twenty-fourth was uneventful. Lewis had been hoping for a murder. He went home and it smelt of cinnamon and baking and hot butter. It also looked glorious.

Lyn had brought back some of the old decorations she'd taken to Manchester. He'd done his best, of course, but he just hadn't done it for so long. Not in the BVI and even back when Val was alive, he was usually so busy. She'd done it all, with the kids, and he'd just got to come home on Christmas Eve when he could and enjoy it.

He almost expected Val to walk into the room.

The familiar knock at the door came just before he got too maudlin, and Hathaway hefted several bags and a bakery box.

"Yule log," he said with a smile, "And presents."

"You didn't have to," Lewis grinned.

"And wine," Hathaway added irrepressibly, "Lots and lots of wine."

The moment came when Lyn stepped out of the kitchen, wearing a dress and an apron and with her hair falling free from the ponytail she'd tucked it into. She was flushed and wide-eyed and her mouth was very red. She stopped at the kitchen doorway and clasped her hands primly in front of her.

Hathaway stopped and looked at her, bags and box apparently forgotten and weightless.

"Happy Christmas," he said quietly.

She inclined her head.

Lewis felt his heart drop.

And maybe she saw that, he didn't know. But her chin came up and she smiled, her usual warm smile even though it was pretty clear it didn't reach her eyes, and she said, "Merry Christmas. James. Um, I can take that."

She took the pastry box.

It wasn't a lot, but it was a start.

They continued to eye each other every now and again over the table but if Lyn's young man noticed, he didn't let on. Tim kept up an easy flow of chatter, in which Lewis tried his best to join, and between the two of them, it seemed to go well enough.

Lyn was gracious over Hathaway's peace offering wrapped in cream and green and he in his turn seemed genuinely pleased to get something as simple as a scarf.

Silver, which, Lewis thought, was a bit of a strange choice for his Sergeant's pale colouring. He waited for Hathaway to look faintly contemptuous, but Hathaway seemed happy. Lewis let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. By this point, he didn't care. Even if the lad was just a good actor, Lewis thanked him silently for his kindness in sparing him any Shakespearean tragedies on Christmas Eve.

Hathaway left early.

"I've got a prior appointment," he said.

Lewis frowned. "You didn't tell me. I told you, if it was inconvenient..."

"No, it wasn't inconvenient." Hathaway looked rueful. "I just have a habit. Hard one to break on Christmas Eve."

Lewis had to take a second to get it. "Ah," he said, and looked relieved, "Midnight service?"

"I like to go on Christmas."

"Well, I'm glad you came, James."

"Sir."

"Oh, not on Christmas Eve, man! Just Robbie."

Lewis put out his hand and Hathaway laughed and shook it. "Thanks for having me."

Lyn bustled up at just that moment, and because Lewis was still holding on to Hathaway's hand, he had the chance to feel the reflexive grip, those long fingers tightening around his with a very definite pressure.

"James," Lyn said, "Thank you for coming." She planted a hand firmly on James' shoulder, went up on tiptoe, and placed a determined kiss on his cheek.

Hathaway dropped his hand and looked so surprised Lewis had to choke down his snort of laughter.

"Er, thanks," Hathaway said, and then, after a pause, "You are a wonderful cook."

Lewis couldn't keep the grin off his face, and he swung a proud arm around his daughter's shoulders. "Just like her Mum," he beamed.

He thought he saw Hathaway's face soften. "Best egg and chips in Oxford?" he asked.

"Now how did you...?"

"Station legend. Apparently you raved about it."

Lyn laughed unexpectedly. "Mum used to say it was all about timing. When to take the egg out of the pan and such like. I used to think it was rubbish until I tried to make it."

"Val was a good cook. And not just egg and chips."

Hathaway shifted slightly. "From everything I hear, she was a lovely woman," he said, "Also station legend."

Lyn smiled and left them alone. Robbie looked measuringly up at his Sergeant. He recognised the look, though his daughter didn't. It was the look of a former priest in training, who had a thing about helping people in distress. He usually saw it just before Hathaway went off and did something stupid, reckless and possibly against the rules.

"Drive safely, Jim," he said, and Hathaway nodded.

"Enjoy your Christmas, Robbie. I'll see you next year."

Lewis watched the door close before he turned around, and Lyn and her Tim had already taken over the television and were sprawled on the sofa in front of it, looking content.

A pang went through him, thinking of Val and how pleased his wife would have been to see this- their daughter, a son-in-law, a happy family just starting.

In the end he saw Hathaway only two days later, a dead and very naked body surfacing in a snow drift. A dog collar around the victim's throat completed the nauseating picture, and Lewis sighed deeply when he opened his door to find Hathaway in a suit and tie, looking mildly apologetic but not really surprised.

It took them a solid two weeks of work to get anywhere with it, and another two weeks to bring the murderer to justice. By then they were exhausted and Hathaway had a cracked skull for his troubles.

He'd been checked once at the scene, of course, but by the time Lewis had had the chance to observe his Sergeant looking as white as a sheet, shaken and probably nauseous, he'd had to drive Hathaway to the hospital himself, and then spent the best part of his night in the emergency room trying to find topics of conversation to keep Hathaway from falling asleep before he'd completed his battery of tests.

"Come on, lad. Stay with me, here."

Hathaway tried to sit up straight. He ended up slouching bonelessly in a slightly more upright position but it was better than nothing.

"I'm up," he said thickly, and "What?"

"What was your favourite cartoon when you were little?" Robbie repeated.

Hathaway frowned. "Why on earth would you ask me that question now?"

"Well, I'm running out of things to say, aren't I?" Lewis snapped, "I'm dead tired, you're half dead, and we're both stuck here for another," he checked his watch, "Hour at least."

They lapsed into silence.

And then Hathaway finally pulled himself up into a sitting position, winced at the pain in his head, and rasped, "Paddington Bear."

Lewis did a double take. "Paddington Bear?"

"I liked marmalade," Hathaway said, as if it explained everything.

Lewis couldn't think of what to say in reply so he said the first thing that came to mind- "Lyn didn't have a favourite cartoon growing up."

There was silence.

"Mark liked the Power Rangers. But Lyn- she watched all sorts. She did have this obsession with 'The Little Mermaid'."

More silence, and then- "Disney?" Hathaway asked.

"Disney. She liked the songs. I think she liked to imagine that she was that girl. Used to sing in her room all the time."

Lewis could almost picture those days, if he thought about it, coming home to find Val at the end of her tether, another argument with Lyn, Lyn upstairs feeling ill-used and Mark clattering around the place like a bull in a china shop. And then Lyn would start singing that ridiculous song about wanting to know what people did on land.

"I've seen bits of it," Hathaway said suddenly.

"So you know all about it, then."

"Hm." Hathaway licked his lips and reached for the bottle of water under his seat.

Lewis handed it to him before Hathaway and the bottle overbalanced. He watched carefully to make sure there were no more accidents, no choking, no dropping the bottle, and then he took it away and put it back under his seat.

"Thank you, nurse," Hathaway said ironically.

"I'll send me bill in the morning," Lewis shot back.

"So what was Lyn's favourite song? My guess is the one on the lake."

Lewis shook his head. "Nope." He was a little satisfied to prove his smug Sergeant wrong sometimes. "Under the sea."

"What? The one the crab sings?"

"She always said it was more fun."

Hathaway licked his lips again, slumped a bit more in his seat, and for the third time in twenty minutes, the conversation seemed to flag.

Lack of sleep and concussion didn't mix and Lewis stayed with him, just in case. There was no one else. He'd suggested a friend, a girlfriend, a family member- it hadn't worked. It never had. He kept offering to call someone else and Hathaway always said he was 'fine, don't worry, I'll live' and then staggered around looking like death warmed up.

By the time they got home it was almost time to get up again. Lewis left his Sergeant to sleep it off and went back to his own bed. He didn't bother to undress but collapsed on top of the sheets and slept for four hours straight before he pried himself up and went back to the office.

Hathaway turned up around lunchtime. Lewis opened his mouth but was forestalled by one upraised hand.

"I'm fine," Hathaway said.

Lewis shut up and shrugged.

Innocent looked in on the both of them and pulled a face. "You both look terrible. Go home early."

Lewis took her advice gratefully, and insisted on taking Hathaway home while he was at it.

When he spoke to Lyn he told her about finding Hathaway half-conscious, stumbling to his feet with the blood on his scalp clearly visible through his short, blond hair.

"Is he okay?" Lyn asked.

"He'll be fine."

"He's hard-headed," Lyn remarked. She didn't mean it as a compliment.

But at least that was the worst she said during the entire phone call.

Lewis wasn't sure, but he let himself believe that his plan had worked. Good food, good wine and Christmas had indeed saved the day. And what was better- they seemed to have called a truce.

Mark called him from Australia and mentioned that he'd heard all about one Sergeant Hathaway.

"Lyn was worried about you for a second there," he said, "What did he do?"

"Ah, you know our Lyn. Took offence at his tone."

"I can believe that. He sounds like some snobby Oxford type. Why do you always get them, Dad?"

"For all my sins," Lewis chuckled, "How's the Australian cricket team?"

The rest of the conversation was pleasant. Mark had to go before Lewis had asked all the questions he wanted to ask but then he'd asked enough. Mark was well, he was doing well, and his life was going well. As far as Lewis was concerned, that was all he needed Mark to tell him.

The fourth time Lyn met Hathaway was at a band practise. She was down for the weekend, and Hathaway had asked Lewis if he wanted to bring her. She was welcome, he said, so long as she sat quietly and didn't interrupt.

Lewis shot him a glare but Hathaway wasn't looking at him.

"Maybe I should," Lewis sighed, "People her own age she can talk to. I'm too old to know the things she wants to talk about."

"I'm reasonably sure Lyn comes to Oxford to see you, not people her own age whom she doesn't know."

"I s'ppose. But it gets boring for her, sitting around at home. No one else to talk to except me. Some old man can't really be all that exciting to spend the whole weekend with."

Hathaway looked up and frowned. "You've acquired a sudden case of onomatomania."

Lewis looked taken aback. "What's ono- whatever it was?"

"An irresistible desire to think and repeat certain words, like 'old'," Hathaway said drily. He bent back to his task. "Also, I spend a lot of time with you. I'm the same age as Lyn."

"Don't I know it. And I think you should spend time with people your own age an' all," Lewis said severely.

Hathaway's lips twitched. "But I enjoy my time with you, sir. I learn so much."

"Work," Lewis told him severely.

Hathaway spared a second to look up and smile properly, and then he went back to his work. But before he left for lunch, he paused in the doorway and said, "Bring her. If you think she'll like it. We're not... everyone's cup of tea."

Lewis shrugged. "If she wants to go, I'm sure she'll like it. I'll ask her."

They did go.

Lewis wasn't entirely sure why Lyn looked at him so oddly when he suggested it or why she looked wistful just before they left the flat. But he saw her, when she thought he was still changing, and she picked up the photo of him and Val and he could see just enough of her face to know that she looked sad.

He gave her a moment and then said loudly, "What d'ye think? Good enough for a bunch of scruffy musicians?"

She put the photo back a little too quickly and then turned to look at him. Her face was composed but her eyes were suspiciously overbright. Still, she looked him up and down and put her hands on her hips. "You'll fit in, then," she said.

"Oi. Is that any way to speak to your old Dad?" he demanded, mock hurt.

She hugged him.

He patted her back indulgently and was about to let her go when she held on just a bit longer and said rapidly in his ear. "Okay, Dad. I won't say it again. But if you know what you want, take it. Mum would understand. Even if it's Him."

Lewis turned his head to say 'what?' and 'pardon?' and any manner of interrogative things but Lyn turned her head. She sniffed loudly and wiped the back of her hand across her eyes and said, "Come on. We'll be late. If we start shuffling around and stealing his limelight, your Sergeant'll get very upset."

"Lyn," he said, and tried to hold her back, but she wasn't having any of it.

"I don't want to talk about it, Dad, now are you coming or not?"

It was still cold outside. Lewis was thankful he was wrapped up in a thick jacket. When they got there, he spotted a familiar figure just outside, smoke curling about a closely cropped blond head. He was smiling before he even got close enough to say anything, and as if he could sense the eyes on him, Hathaway's head lifted.

He put out his cigarette at the sight of them and stood up to the full extent of his height.

With Morse, Lewis had always been just that bit taller. With Hathaway, if he got too close, he had to look up. It gave him a bloody crick in the neck but it was worth it sometimes, to be in a position where Hathaway couldn't hide the look in his eyes by simply dropping his head.

He noticed the line of silver around Hathaway's neck.

He said nothing to Lyn, Lyn said nothing to him, but they nodded to each other, and Hathaway preceded them into the gently echoing chamber where other band members were already set up and waiting.

Lewis nodded to a few of them. Now that he saw them again, they seemed so familiar. But he didn't find himself watching them as much.

Lyn sat quietly, one leg crossed over the other and her eyes wandering between the band and the chapel. But Lewis was conscious, because this was a strange night of half-conversations, that she kept shooting glances at him from the corner of her eye.

They were playing something that sounded more like a madrigal than jazz, and Lewis felt the stiffness ease out of his back. He hadn't even realised he was worried about it until now.

He felt Lyn's hand on his arm and he started a little in surprise, but she only smiled and shifted closer to him.

From this close, he could see the bits of her that had come from Val- those eyes, the way she moved her head, her hair. All Val. Poor lass had got his hands but there was nothing to help that.

She was warm against his side, comforting, and Lewis thought that he was glad to have her. She was his link to the past. She was herself, and her mother, and the childhood her parents have given her. She was her brother's link to England, the daughter of a policeman, a practising nurse, and soon she'd be a wife and probably a mother too.

He was content to sit with her hand tucked into his arm, listening to music he had no clue about, watching long, elegant fingers move surely along the fretboard of a guitar.

And when Hathaway looked up, Lewis caught his eye and saw the peace, the gentle exuberance of doing something that was healing, for once; that wasn't about pulling scabs off other people's mental wounds and laying bare their skeletons, but something that was no more and no less than just pleasure.

And then suddenly Hathaway stopped.

"Er, we should try the other one," he said, looking at his group and ignoring his audience, "The one I told you about."

Lewis felt his eyes narrow. There was a faint twitter among the other band members. The trombone player had a very broad grin on his lips before he started up again.

Lewis watched Hathaway and this time he saw the signs, the gleam of Hathaway's eyes that said he was hugely amused and excited, the stress in his shoulders, the absolute certainty of his hands.

It was an absolutely different tune. Catchy. Much jazzier than the other stuff he'd heard them play. And it was familiar. He couldn't place where he'd heard it before. But then Lyn started to laugh. She was snorting, the sound echoing in the chamber, and Lewis was horrified until he realised that half the band was in a similar state. This time even James was practically smirking, though he was still not looking at them.

Lyn turned her face into his sleeve and he could feel the shake of her body as the violinist picked up. The whole thing seemed to be whirling around.

Then Lyn took her face out from his sleeve and sang shakily, "...what do they got a lot of sand... we got a hot crustacean band..." and dissolved into peals of laughter.

Hathaway finally looked up at them when he heard her voice, the trombone player abandoned his instrument in favour of full fledged hilarity, and Lewis was shaking his head at the absurdity of the whole thing.

It was only at the end, when Lyn was talking to a couple of the lads and Hathaway had loped over with his guitar case dangling from one capable hand, that Lewis got the chance to ask him about it.

"I thought she might prefer an old favourite," James replied, "The tune wasn't hard. Gary there did the arrangements. Actually I think we all enjoyed the change."

"Going to make it part of your regular set then?"

"Absolutely not."

Lewis laughed. "Thanks anyway, James."

Hathaway looked elsewhere.

Lewis was watching him out of habit, watching the way his Sergeant stood, the slight arch of his back. Probably came from some posh public school gym teacher drilling posture into them, Lewis thought. There was that scar on his chin as well. Hathaway never did say where it came from. Sometimes people kept touching their scars, like they knew they were there and people were looking at them, but never Hathaway. Never seemed to notice it.

The group hung around for a few more minutes before someone started yawning. And then there was a general rush for the exit.

Lewis found himself with the violinist, who kept up a steady conversation about the price of tomatoes. Lewis listened with half an ear, the other half tuned to where his daughter and his Sergeant were bringing up the rear.

The old warning bells, never quite silenced, started to ring again, and he cast an eye back to see Lyn looking more than a little startled. And worried. And Hathaway looking furious. Nobody else seemed to notice but then they were taking him along in their flow and nobody else was looking back.

Lewis stopped when he was past the Church door, and turned around just as soon as he could. Hathaway moved around him, body angled away and refusing to meet his eyes. He was flushed, head down.

"I've got somewhere I need to be," he said shortly.

Lewis looked at Lyn with dire finality and watched her bite her lip.

"Car," he said, "Now."

She followed meekly.

.#cutid1


	2. Chapter 2

She kept quiet until they were home and then waited until he had sat down, watching her, preserving an accusing silence.

"I think," she said slowly, sounding very small and timid, "I think I did something stupid."

Lewis sighed internally but held out a hand.

It was an old, familiar gesture. He used to use it when he came home all those years ago, with Val at the end of her tether and promising darkly that one of the kids would get a smack off their Dad. And he'd done his fair share of smacking but he'd used the silence trick more. It didn't take much- hold out a hand, sit them down, and let them talk.

Cops were good at that trick.

"I thought," Lyn started, and then let out an impatient huff and wrung her hands together, "Look, I'm sorry, Dad. You'll really hate me for this."

"I won't."

"Yes, you will."

"Lyn, just tell me."

She was sitting hunched up, elbows on her knees and leaning forward, curling into herself. But she turned her head to look at him. "I don't even know how to say it. Look, I thought you and him..."

Lewis looked puzzled. "Me and Hathaway? What about us?"

She flushed and bit her lip, and looked away again. "I thought there was an 'us'," she mumbled, "Like- you and him. Together."

"Well, we're partners. Friends, I think," Lewis offered.

Lyn winced. "Not together like friends, Dad. Like lovers."

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

The pieces fell into place- the hostility, the cryptic whispering in his ear, Lyn's misty eyed contemplation of her parents in a photograph. And then, of course, there was Hathaway, who had slunk away from St. Anne's looking more embarrassed than Lewis had seen him in a long time.

"And you told Hathaway that?" he demanded.

"I just said I didn't mind," Lyn pleaded, "Just, you know, he had to be discreet. You always said what it was like in the station and I just wanted him to know I knew, I didn't like him but if you liked him then I can stand it. And he had to be good to you. I just told him that."

"My God. No wonder he ran out of there. He must think I'm... oh hell!"

"Dad, I am really sorry."

"How did you even get such an idea in your head? I'm not even gay! I was married to your Mum, remember?"

Lyn shrugged. "Some people like both."

"Well, I don't."

"I didn't know!"

"No, you didn't think," Lewis snapped. And then, because she looked really upset and because he was tired and because he didn't have to sort this mess out with his Sergeant until Monday morning, he resigned himself just a little. He even reached out and laid a hand on Lyn's back, rubbing reassuringly until she started to uncurl a little. "Well, it's done now."

She uncurled a bit grudgingly but she kept her head down. He was hardly going to stoop just to see the look on her face.

"Will he ask for a transfer or something?"

Lewis thought about it. "If he wants one, he's not the man I think he is," he said at last, and then smiled when Lyn cast a wary glance at him over her shoulder. "I'll talk to him."

"Is he gay?" she asked.

Lewis shifted uncomfortably, trying to think of how best to phrase it. "We never talk about things like that."

"Men," she said contemptuously, and retreated behind her hair again.

"It's not 'men'," Lewis echoed, "It's work. I work with him. Even if he wants to tell me, I don't want to know. I don't investigate me own Sergeants, Lyn."

She shook her head and then drew in a long breath, straightening up before she got to her feet. "I'm going to bed. Think I've had enough shocks for one day."

"I'll see you in the morning."

She leaned down and kissed his cheek before she took herself off.

Lewis spent the next few minutes in an agony of annoyance. Thinking of ways to soothe Hathaway's ruffled feathers was one thing. Lewis could get through that okay with a bit of mumbling awkwardness. It was more difficult to think of ways to pin Hathaway down long enough to do it.

Though maybe 'pinning' Hathaway in any way would be best not thought of for a few weeks. Not until Lewis could get over the sudden shock of his daughter thinking he was bedding him. He had no idea where the girl had got such a stupid idea. He'd never given her the least sign that he even looked at men. He'd loved Val. And he had this thing with Laura; Lyn knew that.

He slept fitfully for most of the night and got up before dawn. Lyn found him sitting at the kitchen table with the newspaper and a cup of coffee, looking tired but fully dressed.

"Did you sleep okay?" she asked carefully.

He grunted at her.

"I got a text from Tim last night," she told him, "A friend of ours is really sick. Wanted to know if we can have her twins for a couple of days."

Lewis wasn't particularly surprised. "Sounds urgent," he said, trying to be supportive.

"It means I have to leave early."

He'd known that. He didn't like it, but he knew it, and who was he to tell her what he liked and didn't like any more. Not when it wasn't his business.

"But I can stay for breakfast," she said brightly.

It was good enough.

Lewis faced Hathaway on Monday morning over a dead body. A hit and run with a bit more to it. And his Sergeant was blank faced and morose, long face pulled even longer and his voice so expressionless Lewis was ready to strangle him on the spot.

Even Laura noticed it. "What's bitten our James?" she asked in a quiet aside.

"Lyn was down this weekend."

Laura actually laughed. "You're going to have to stop making them see each other, Robbie. Look at the boy, he's sulking!"

Lewis wasn't sure if sulking was the right word for it. He managed to catch Hathaway in a quiet spot beside his car and a quick look around told him that he'd get just a minute to try something- anything- to get Hathaway to stop looking like they'd had a quarrel.

"About Saturday," he began.

Hathaway's face tightened.

"Lyn made a mistake. She got it wrong."

"Yes, I did come to that conclusion. So would she have if she'd spent some time thinking before she meddled in things that don't concern her."

"That's a bit harsh."

"I think I've got every right to be a bit harsh," Hathaway ground out, suddenly looking as furious as Lewis had ever seen him, "I made the effort. I offered the olive branch. She insults me, and you, and cheapens this whole working relationship with..."

"Cheapens? And she hardly meant to insult either of us. But thank God she's wrong, eh? Wouldn't want to be an insult to you."

"That is not what I meant."

"That's what you just said."

"Lewis," Laura broke in loudly, "A word about our victim." Her voice dropped significantly as she stepped between them. "And we can all hear you. Keep it for another time."

Worse and worse, Lewis thought, and set his jaw. Hathaway was already gone, following Dr. Hobson with the stride of someone who was trying to put as much distance between himself and what he was leaving behind.

They worked it out, but only just. Lewis originally divided them, kept Hathaway running tasks with one set of suspects while he ran interference on the other, and when they crossed each other in the office, they exchanged brief notes before following their own individual leads. That ended when Innocent called them in to rake them over the coals.

"Two separate leads, ma'am," Hathaway intoned.

It was pure bollocks and even Innocent didn't believe a word of it. But she accepted it, and sent them away in disgust.

Lewis elected to say nothing more about the matter. Hathaway had made it clear he didn't want to discuss it, and optimistically speaking, they'd come through other bad patches. He thought of Hathaway in the street after watching Will's tape- '_you're not listening to me_'.

They'd handled it. They had their own special brand of talking about things.

"Let's go see the grieving husband again," Lewis said, "You can give me your expert opinion."

"I'm hardly an expert on husbands," Hathaway said.

But it seemed enough.

They didn't talk about it. There was a moment at the end of the day, after someone had walked into the station and confessed in hysterics to the whole thing, when Lewis had fallen foul of his old demons and wondered why he bothered to keep coming back day after day. He heard the soft footfalls and looked up to find Hathaway with his annoyingly steady gaze fixed on him.

And Lewis calculated that it was about that time that one of them would suggest chucking it in for the day. And a pint. Usually in that order. It was a bit hard to ignore the fact that in the past year Hathaway had become confidante and companion. They'd watched the news on television, sitting side by side on the lumpy sofa in Lewis's flat. Right-hand and everything, and there were certain things that a right hand did that Lewis really didn't want to think about.

Hathaway stopped in front of the desk. "If you've no objection, sir, I'd like to get home early today."

Neutral tone of voice. Blank expression. Colourless eyes. Check, check and check, Lewis thought wearily.

"Go on, Sergeant. I'll see you tomorrow."

The next time Lewis had occasion to mention Lyn in Hathaway's presence, it was because the prospect of early retirement was dangling before his eyes.

Laura listened to him in near silence, sympathy radiating off her in waves, and Lewis was almost too grateful to have someone to finally talk it over with.

"It's a Lyn thing", he said delicately, and the corner of Laura's mouth twisted into a half-smile.

"Which means you can't talk to James," she guessed.

"Well, not until I know for sure," Lewis excused. He pushed the handle on his cup back and forward a few times, just to eat up some of the restless energy twitching in his hands. "Though if I go, it may be a step up for him. Can't ignore that."

"Is that how you think he'll see it?" Laura asked him, looking sceptical.

"I think it's normal," Lewis shrugged.

She didn't argue with him, but her doubtful look came back to him when he did- finally- bring it up with Hathaway.

"If you go, I go," Hathaway said calmly, "Who else will stand me?"

Lewis eyed his Sergeant over the lip of his pint glass, turning over the sudden honesty in his mind. Weeks into their carefully reconstructed working relationship and he hadn't expected this.

He put it down to the sunset and to Hathaway's sudden crisis of... well, no, not faith. Not if Hathaway still believed. Not if, as Hathaway said, he saw God in everything.

Except that policing was about belief. Lewis believed in the law. Revenge was just a kind of wild justice.

"How is she?" Hathaway asked suddenly.

"Who?"

"Lyn. With her pregnancy."

"She's fine."

Hathaway's left hand had been laid palm-down in his lap, fingers slightly bent and pale against the dark cloth of his trousers. Lewis glanced down to find that that had changed. The fingers were flat along his thigh, stretched out and white at the knuckles.

Colourless.

Lewis flicked a glance back up and Hathaway was staring at him, eyes hooded and face blank.

"I think I'd better leave, sir."

Lewis didn't stop his Sergeant standing up, reaching for his jacket, and walking away. He simply let it hang there, another conversation that would probably not happen because there were things they didn't talk about or couldn't talk about it. Sometimes it was hard to tell.

He watched Hathaway hesitate, as if he'd thought of something else, but it came to nothing. Lewis went home and tried to call Mark. But six in the evening was two in the morning in Darwin, Australia, and Mark was definitely not in the mood to talk.

Lewis settled in for the night, never more aware of his loneliness than with the expanse of a whole sofa stretching out either side of him.

He missed Val on nights like these. Or Morse. Lewis tried to imagine what it would have been like if Morse had lived. Maybe Morse would have come round a bit, nosed around the investigations and offered advice. He'd have driven Lewis into fits with refusing to mind his diabetes. Certainly he'd have driven Hathaway to the nearest nerve specialist.

Psychiatrist, he corrected himself. Psychologist. Or therapist. All three, probably, knowing Morse.

The sad part was that they'd been getting close, him and Hathaway. Not just friends, but... family. Watching sunsets, talking. Then there were things Hathaway did, like saying he'd leave the police force if Lewis retired early, and the way he was with Laura's old housemate, looming around protectively whenever Alec started in again.

Like a son, Lewis would have said, only sons didn't say things that could have been flirting if they weren't men- 'darling, I think we should explain' or 'I ask because I care'.

Lewis wrote himself off as a maudlin old fool at nine in the evening and went early to bed.

It was easier with Laura. He went to her place for dinner after they'd closed the case on Voss.

She sat there at the kitchen table he'd interviewed her at, smiling at him with her mouth red from wine and laughing, and Lewis was content. She was a beautiful woman, caring; he'd known her for years. They had history on their side, and he didn't need to explain things to her.

Also she answered a bloody question and didn't lecture him on the finer points of sexual stereotyping.

"Do you really think we have a chance?" he asked her.

She smiled a little sadly, and reached out to touch his hand on the tabletop. "No," she answered simply.

"Then why set all this up? You could have just let me down gently in the car park."

"Well, I did come to speak to you in your office," she reminded him, "But you were talking to Lyn."

"Is that why... Now I really feel stupid."

"You are." She grinned at him and then reached businesslike for the bottle. Topping up both glasses, she lifted hers. "But we're still old friends, Robbie. I hope you'll agree."

"So it's Franco, then?"

"None of your business. But maybe."

The following Saturday, Lyn called Hathaway. They talked for the fifth time in the past four and a half years.

"How did you get this number?"

"I lifted it from Dad's phone. Is this a bad time?"

"What do you want?"

They spoke for only a matter of minutes- three at most- and the conversation was stilted. They never raised their voices. They didn't snipe. When it was over, Lyn hung up and went back on shift, putting all thoughts aside to concentrate on her job.

Hathaway had no such reprieve.

Lewis opened his door to find his Sergeant on his doorstep- something that hadn't happened for a few months. Not since the evening at St. Anne's. And Hathaway wasn't carrying any bottles or bags, no food or drink to barter for entry.

"If you still want to discuss this," Hathaway said quickly, low and urgent, "I will do it now, in private, but if you leave it here, I don't want to talk about it ever again. This is the choice you have to make."

"And hello to you too. Come in."

"You've got to decide first. Do you want to do this now or not? For better or worse, this is going to be the only time I will speak of this."

"The only time... that's not how this works, Sergeant."

"I am not speaking to you as a work colleague, sir. I am speaking to you as a friend."

"Oh aye, while you call me 'sir'."

"Fine. Robbie. What will it be? I will answer any questions you like today. But not tomorrow."

"Why not tomorrow?"

"Because," Hathaway said bluntly, "I won't have the bloody nerve."

Lewis set his jaw. His first impulse was stubbornness. His second impulse was anger. He intensely disliked having his hand forced. Ultimatums only gave him the urge to dig his heels in and damn the consequences.

Except for the look on Hathaway's face.

Lewis stepped back and let him in.

"So, what's all this about?" Lewis asked.

Hathaway had never looked so uncomfortable before. He hovered, jaw working and fists clenching and unclenching. Lewis let out a sigh.

"Sit down, man. I don't bite. What in the world brought all this on?"

Hathaway didn't sit down. "I spoke to Lyn."

"When?"

"This morning."

"How did she get your number?" Lewis demanded.

"She took it off your phone when she was here," Hathaway informed him, and for the first time since he'd turned up on Lewis's doorstep, he actually smiled a little. "Smart of her."

"Not sure I agree. Look, I'm sorry. I don't know what's got into her."

"She isn't the person I want to talk about, sir."

"Robbie," Lewis answered automatically.

Hathaway flushed. "I want you to know that I plan to speak to the Chief Super about a transfer."

"What?" Lewis blinked, "Because of all this?"

"It concerns what I have to say, yes, sir- Robbie. Look, can we sit down, this may be easier."

"I know. That's why I suggested it a while ago." Lewis took a seat on the sofa and it was interesting, though somewhat frustrating, that Hathaway perched as far towards the other side as he could get.

Suddenly, his sofa seemed much too small. All he had to do was reach out a hand and he'd touch Hathaway's knee, or his hand. This time those fingers looked even paler against the brown fabric, and they were long and tapering but slightly wider at the tips that they should have been.

Lewis suddenly wondered what that hand would look like against his skin. The thought made him flush and look away.

Hathaway, of course, misinterpreted that. "This was why I didn't want to have this conversation."

"You said I could ask questions," Lewis said, ignoring the obvious hurt in Hathaway's voice.

"If you want."

"Are you gay?"

Hathaway sighed. "I thought I answered that one."

"What, that trick with the magazine and the Yorkie? If that's how you answer a question, Jim, it's no wonder we're sitting here having this talk. You'd be a pain in a murder investigation."

"I have liked men on occasion."

Lewis digested that. "And," he said, "What about Will?"

Hathaway looked startled.

"I have this theory- stop me if I'm wrong- but Will was in love with you. You don't go back to someone who laughed at you the first time for advice. And you were in the seminary. He knew that. He wouldn't risk hearing you laughing at him again, or telling him he was going to hell, not unless it meant something to him. So I think you two had a history, and he wanted to tell you about Feardorcha."

Hathaway wasn't looking at him again. "Almost right. He came to me because I was in the seminary. If he could get just one of us to say it was alright, he would have been happy."

"Did you sleep with him?"

"I was in a school surrounded by boys. Sometimes these things happen."

"You're not answering the question."

"Yes, then." Hathaway wouldn't look at him, but he did make the effort to lower his voice. "Once. During that summer. Why he told me, I suppose."

Lewis let it sit there for a few minutes, waiting to see if any more information would be forthcoming, but Hathaway was clearly not in the mood to go into details. So he shelved the topic. The question had been answered, and in the end, it didn't really matter.

"I'm sorry about Lyn," Lewis offered him.

Hathaway made a slight sound that could have been anything from agreement to black amusement.

"I'll have a word with her."

"She's not wrong, you know."

Lewis froze. The sudden prickle down his spine did nothing to help.

Hathaway reached up both hands as if to smooth the tiredness out of his face. "Sir, I don't expect anything. I never have. But if you ask the question, I will answer it."

And there was the question. Lewis was certain that it hadn't been there a year ago. He hadn't thought it existed after the first case, nor after the second. He hadn't even thought to ask it after the case with Will, or after Scarlet. But if he looked at it now, it had been building since an entirely stupid little moment somewhere in the middle, when he'd put down a report at some early hour of the morning, and found Hathaway still at his post, loyal and silent and just... there.

Watching sunsets, talking to him- 'he goes, I go' or 'you go, I go'.

"You have to ask, sir."

"I can't," Lewis said gruffly, "If you go on calling me 'sir'."

He heard the little huff of what couldn't be laughter, because this was no laughing matter. It was a turning point. And it was all Lyn's fault, he thought. He'd have been happy not thinking about it. He'd have been happy not choosing between his Sergeant and his family and wanting both.

"Fine. Robbie, you need to ask."

Stress on 'need'. That voice wasn't colourless, any more. It was low and rich and it seemed to be infiltrating his blood. Lewis would never have believed it if he hadn't heard it. And felt it. He took a deep breath.

"Do you...?"

"Do I what?"

"No, it's stupid." Lewis shook his head and pushed himself off the sofa, suddenly too restless to sit still.

Hathaway looked like someone had just thrown a bucket of cold water over him. "What?"

"You're too bloody young. And I'm your Inspector. It's stupid."

Hathaway got up.

"Have a beer, James. Forget it. It was just something Lyn put into our heads. Nothing else. It didn't come up until she started her... just don't think about it."

"You think this is because of Lyn?"

"I never thought of it until she brought it up. I'll have a word with her. Stop this mess."

Lewis turned around and found Hathaway lingering nearby. And even as he paused, suddenly self-conscious, his Sergeant put both hands down on the counter and looked at him, well clear of his personal space but still so close.

"You may not have thought of it," Hathaway told him softly, "But I did."

Definitely not colourless, Lewis decided. Not his voice, not his eyes. The indeterminate grey had darkened; his pupils were dilated.

"There was always someone else for you, Robbie. Your wife, or Anne Kriel, and then Hobson."

"Laura and I have decided not to try," Lewis informed him curtly.

Hathaway's eyes widened slightly. And there was a definite twitch to his lips. "I'm sorry."

"I can see," Lewis said dryly.

"I am. I told you I don't expect anything." Hathaway tilted his head slightly. "But you still haven't asked."

"Bit irrelevant now."

"I'd prefer you to. That way I can answer and you can't hold it against me."

"So what I want doesn't matter?"

Hathaway shrugged. "Courtesy is only a thin veneer on the general selfishness."

"Shakespeare?"

"Don't think so."

Lewis eyed him speculatively and then sighed. "If I ask this," he said, "What do we do after that?"

"Have a beer. Or I can go. And we can leave this conversation here."

"Like the others."

Hathaway nodded once. Decisively.

"Do you... are you..."

"I am attracted to you. I would ask you out, but I value our working relationship too highly."

"Ah."

Lewis lapsed into silence, self-consciously reaching for the beer he'd brought out. He could feel the weight of Hathaway's gaze on his face, could tell the lad was busy cataloguing every shift of muscle. And, he thought wistfully, probably every wrinkle and sag as well.

"Why?" he asked, looking up. "To me, I mean."

Hathaway looked taken aback but then rallied. "Well, we've been through a lot together. We fit. Even when we argue we don't..."

"You like me because we're friends?"

"This is why I don't have a lot of friends," Hathaway quipped. The joke fell sadly flat. He shook his blond head. "Robbie, I like you for all the reasons anyone can fall in love with someone else for."

"In love?"

"Ah. I shouldn't have said that. But don't worry. I think I can control myself around you." A pause. "If you can still work with me."

"I don't think I want to work with anyone else," Lewis said simply.

The moment seemed unbearably loaded just then. And then Lewis cleared his throat and reached determinedly for the beer.

"Come on, lad. You're not getting rid of me that easily."

The sixth time Lyn met Hathaway was at her wedding just a few weeks later. There was no priest, no minister; just a celebrant and a warm summer's day at a park. The bride was resplendent in ivory, glowing with health, and clearly pregnant.

She was not expecting to see her father's Sergeant there. Nor was Tim, who raised his eyebrows comically and shot her a speaking look.

"What's he doing here?" she demanded in an undertone.

"My date, pet," Lewis said blandly, "Now don't look like that, Lyn. It's all your fault anyway."

"Wish I'd never met him," she said mulishly.

"Funny. I don't think that at all."

.


End file.
